


horizons my target

by Amira_Illusion



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Undertale, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream is Flowey, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Hurt/Comfort, SBI Family vibes, SO, Undertale style violence, big brother wilbur soot, no beta we die like canon SBI dynamics lmao, thats my sales pitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amira_Illusion/pseuds/Amira_Illusion
Summary: The flower tilts its head (?) slightly to the side. “Oh good, you’re okay! I was worried you weren’t the talkative type. Hey! The name’s Dream.” It laughs, a level of airiness in the sound, “I know, odd name for a flower right?”
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Eret & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Quackity & Ranboo, Ranboo & Tubbo, Ranboo & Wilbur Soot, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Tommyinnit & Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, platonic vibes only
Comments: 16
Kudos: 113





	1. Ruins I

**Author's Note:**

> DreamSMP characters but make it Undertale. 
> 
> This came to me out of nowhere and is also kinda a test to see if anyone wants to read an Undertale au lmao
> 
> Comments to feed motivation are very welcome

At first, there is darkness. 

There is darkness as far as he can remember. It grips onto him tightly, clutching at both his body and mind until he’s convinced it’s all he’s ever known. He’s sure it’s been his companion for longer than he’s been aware of it. 

It’s chased by light, droplets falling into his vision and bringing with them pain so intense that he wishes for his old friends' claws to wrap themselves around him again and put him out of his misery. Soon the light overtakes the darkness in his vision and he can see, squinting due to the pain exploding across his mind. 

He’s unsure how long he lays there, motionless and staring at the seemingly endless ceiling looming above. There must be a hole somewhere up there because the sunlight cutting into his eyes is streaming down, illuminating the place he is. Which is…

It takes a moment for his thoughts to organise and flow in an order he can understand. The cavern he’s in doesn’t seem to end, at least not as far as he can see on unadjusted eyes. He sits up to get a better look, ignoring the headache that somehow manages to get worse, and glances around his surroundings. 

Time passes, he’s sure. What he’s unsure is how much time he spends looking around himself, observations slipping away as soon as he makes them. 

He is sat in a bed of flowers. 

Everything hurts. 

He can see an archway, an exit to the place he’s found himself in. How had he-

Fear. Heartbeat thundering as he ran through the dark. The sound of shouting behind him, closer, closer, closer, closer, it can’t get closer, mustn’t, hands closing around the back of his shirt as the ground disappears from beneath his feet. Suffocation, feeling of hanging by the scruff of his neck as gravity pulls him towards her, being let go, rushing air making his eyes water, acceptance-

Darkness. 

He stumbles to his feet, long legs shaking under an unsteady weight fuelled by adrenaline that overturns the pain, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to run and never stop. The endless ceiling suddenly seems too low, the cavern walls too close-

He trips through the arch in the rock, falls into a corridor wall that closes in on him and makes him push off the rough stone and run faster through another archway, into another cavern and trip once more. 

The pain in his wrists as his hands stop face meeting floor breaks through his panicked haze. The fear is almost primal, he cannot place any reason or cause behind it, cannot remember why and is therefore driven by pure instinct to flee from formless enemies. 

“Hi!” 

The sudden greeting breaks through the hum of his heartbeat in his ears and makes his head snap up in alarm, neck cracking in protest. 

From his position on the floor, hands and knees resting against cold stone, he is eye level with a smiling face on an abnormally large flower. It doesn’t look real, as if someone had drawn it on with a marker seconds prior and in a rush, expression cartoony but simple. He’s half convinced he’s imagined the voice, the cavern devoid of anything living except him and this flower when he hears it again, “Hello there!” 

The voice is like a balm on his frazzled nerves, disarming his worries in one swoop despite his uncertainty of its origin. 

“H-Hello?” He asks the open air, voice strained. It only now occurs to him how thirsty and hungry he feels, the sensations hidden under a blanket of constant aches in his body. 

The flower tilts its head (?) slightly to the side. “Oh good, you’re okay! I was worried you weren’t the talkative type. Hey! The name’s Dream.” It laughs, a level of airiness in the sound, “I know, odd name for a flower right?”

He blinks twice and then twice again, half tempted to pinch himself but refraining due to the constant ache that already confirms his theory, he’s not asleep. There is a flower in front of him, speaking, talking to him. 

“Gosh, you look so confused. Lemme help you out.” Dream seems to sway in a non-existent breeze. “You came out of the Flower Cavern so you must have fallen from the mountain above these caves, Mt. Ebott ,” he could only nod numbly in response despite not recognising the name, “and now you’re in the Underground.” Dream speaks with a hint of finality in his voice. 

He stares at Dream, rooted to the spot as he processes. “What does that-“

“Still,” Dream continues as if there had been no interruption, “a fall like that? You must be pretty messed up and in pain.” He can’t help his nod nor his pained whine, embarrassment and hope kindling in his heart at the comforting tone of this odd creature. “What hurts, friend?”

“Everything.” He admits like it’s his darkest secret, body shaking from the effort of holding himself up after his adrenaline had faded, even sat on his knees. 

“Your new friend Dream can help you wash all that pain away. Make it stop, quick and easy.”

It sounds like a kind offer, a promise of care and he feels himself relax at the thought. His eyes lower to the ground and he whispers, “please,” as if he were begging for salvation. 

Dream hums. “What are friends for?”

The surrounding air changes, growing heavier with power. It makes him look back up at his new friend (?) who has created a glowing ball of energy floating between them. “Friendliness pellets. It’ll stop the pain.” Dream answers the unasked question. 

He reaches out, long arms reaching for the ball of energy, the ‘pellet’, hands outstretched and fumbling for a chance at peace. Trembling fingers brush, barely, against magical energy and for a second there is silence. 

And then every nerve in his body is aflame. If he had thought that he had been in pain before, it is nothing compared to the agony that seems to flood every trembling cell in his body in the infinity that drags between the moment of contact and the moment his hand jerks away. 

It takes a moment for his vision to clear from pain induced blur. He numbly realizes he can hear a sound, a wheeze like the whistle of a kettle that tears into his head like a chainsaw through tissue paper. It’s a laugh. Someone is laughing. 

Dream is laughing. 

He stares at Dream, the flower interrupting himself with gleeful wheezes and childlike laughter as he tries to speak. “The look- on your- FACE!” He doesn’t understand. 

“You are so naive.” Dream states this, as if it is an indisputable fact. It’s expression has not changed, the same crude smile motionless like a mask. “The world? It’s kill or be killed.” It is spoken like a parent berating a misbehaving child. Despite the fact that he is tall and Dream is just a flower, he feels as if the flower before him is looming high above him, a predator playing with his prey. 

“But despite your disappointing behaviour, I’ll keep my promise,” He doesn’t raise his voice, it’s no more than a whisper, and barely concealed malice glistens in every syllable. “I am kind to my friends, after all.”

The gloom is lit up by countless ‘friendliness pellets’, rings upon rings surrounding him. He freezes. He’s trapped. 

“Nice seeing you, friend.” 

There is nothing he can do. Acceptance washes over him far too quick. There is nothing he can do. 

His eyes scrunch shut as the rings begin to constrict around him. He hides his head in his arms, a last ditch attempt to protect himself and waits. 

A disorientating shriek breaks the silence. For a second he wonders if it’s him screaming but his throat feels blocked, he’s unable to make a sound louder than the low whine reverberating in his head alongside the shriek. Someone else is screaming. 

As sudden as the noise started, it chokes to a stop. His ears ring with it even when all he can hear is his own laboured breathing. 

Too tired and scared to move, he sits there, cradling himself with eyes squeezed shut. Dream could be playing another game with him, something he’d figured out pretty quick was exactly the sort of thing Dream would do. 

Something touches his hair. He flinches away but instead of the agonising burn from before, a comforting warmth spreads from his scalp all throughout his head like water droplets racing down a window. The warmth washes away the headache with a stable force that leaves him lightheaded. 

Curiosity overwhelms fear. Arms relax from their guards post and eyes blink open. In front of him is a person that doesn’t quite look like a person. Red beanie on their hair and bright yellow sweater hanging off their tall frame, they’ve crouched down to meet his eyes, concern and veiled anger emanating from them. 

He nearly hides again. The only thing that stops him is the hand on his hair startling him as it retreats. He’s so very tempted to chase it, the comfort and relief they brought intoxicating.

“Hello.” It’s a murmur, the voice the stranger speaks with, deep and quiet and comforting but also a little sad, though he’s unsure why it sounds so sorrowful when it’s just a greeting. “I’m Wilbur, caretaker of the Ruins. It’s been ages since I’ve had new company, especially from a human.”

He can’t help but stare at the other, not quite capable of eye contact and therefore focused on Wilbur’s animal ears that set him apart from being a human instead. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s seen in the last 10 minutes by a long shot.

“I’m sorry your first interaction with a Monster was with that annoying weed.” Wilbur continues, his serene rasp broken by sudden anger at the last two words. He spits them out like a bitter taste. There is a pause that Wilbur breaks with a sudden, bright smile and a raspy “what’s your name?”

“Ranboo.” The name leaves his mouth with certainty provided by muscle memory despite the fact he’s sure he didn’t know the answer before the question had been asked. There is a void in his head, a great nothing stretching beyond the darkness he remembers from the other room.

“Ranboo, huh?” Wilbur repeats, humour tinging his voice. Ranboo dares look him in the eyes but Wilbur seems to be looking through him rather than at him, gaze distant and yet somehow focused on something Ranboo cannot gauge. It makes him feel like a stranger in his own skin for a brief moment.

He jumps when Wilbur places a hand on his shoulder and speaks again. “Well Ranboo, let’s get you somewhere safe, shall we?”

Despite knowing nothing at all about the man in front of him, Ranboo finds himself nodding.


	2. Ruins II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got myself together enough to finish writing another chapter.

Wilbur helps him to his feet and Ranboo has to suppress the urge to pat the dust off of his clothes. They’re already ruined beyond saving and yet he still felt the intense need to look presentable despite the fact there are so many other things he should be focusing on. Wilbur, he notices, is giving him a once over and it makes him subconsciously stand up straighter.

“Does anything hurt?”

Ranboo mutely shakes his head. It’s true, surprisingly enough. The constant aches and pains from before had disappeared, even after the adrenaline had fizzled out of his veins. The only hint of discomfort is the dryness in his throat and the hunger he feels twisting in his stomach. 

He’s not brave enough to bring either of them up to the stranger. Huh, guess he does still have some reservations about following the man through the,,, Ruins? 

“Good.” Wilbur smiles at him, whole body language broadcasting comfort. “Glad I got everything.” He doesn’t let that comment linger and instead starts walking off.

Ranboo keeps pace easily. A part of him is very pleased he’s taller than Wilbur, even if it’s an irrational and random thought. “‘Got everything?’” He asks as he starts following.

“I saw that bastard flower,” once again, both body language and tone shift to much more emotionally charged at the mere mention of Dream before falling back into a tired, wispy voice. Ranboo isn’t sure which would be considered Wilbur’s ‘normal voice’ but the sudden bursts of emotion visibly drain him of energy. “And I knew he’d probably done something to you so the first thing I did was heal you. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Ranboo is about to respond, head trying to wrap itself around the idea of ‘healing’, when they finally walk out of the dark cavern and into a room with a stairway carved into stone. 

“Welcome,” he can see Wilbur smiling proudly, arms outstretched as if showing off the space around them, “to the Ruins.”

\---

The Ruins, Ranboo finds, are full of traps and puzzles.

He can’t begin to fathom why. What is the point of putting life-threatening and/or mildly inconveniencing obstacles in the beginning, middle and end of the place you live? To be fair, he can only vouch for the beginning puzzles but he thinks it's a fair guess. 

Wilbur is being odd about the whole thing too. He walks through all the traps as if it’s second nature and a completely normal thing to do. He also has Ranboo talk to a training dummy, which is a really awkward affair. Look, nothing against the dummy, Ranboo is just very much not good at the whole small talk thing. At least Wilbur had looked proud of him so, score?

“I’ve found life to be a lot easier if you just avoid conflict Ranboo.” Wilbur imparts this wisdom on him as they are leaving the dummy room, nodding to himself and smiling. Ranboo notices Wilbur really likes to smile a lot.

He’s not sure if they’re all as genuine as each other though.

The next room has another puzzle and this time Wilbur insists that Ranboo has to solve it all by himself. “It’s important to be independent, you know.” He says as he wanders down the corridor and around a corner, slightly out of sight.

As if they were waiting for it, as soon as the elder isn’t in his immediate vicinity, a waist-high frog jumps in his way. Ranboo ignores his first instinct to run away and his second instinct to lash out, he breathes out shakily to relieve some of the sudden tension and adrenaline before putting on his best smile.

“Hello there, uh,” he fumbles for his words, “frog,” He’s not sure if that’s all that polite, to be honest. You wouldn’t really go up to another person and say ‘hi Human,’ but at the same time, it was literally a frog and he didn’t know their name nor ‘frog-language’ to ask them about it, so he was really rather justified for his awkwardness. “Could you maybe, please, move out of my way?” The frog regards him and Ranboo can’t shake the feeling that he’s being assessed on threat level. “Please?” he adds on for good measure, looking the frog straight in its eyes despite how it makes him even more nervous.

“He said move it, Froggit.” A looming figure behind the frog (Froggit? Was that a name or like, a species? Were they all called Froggit or did they have their own names? Was there even more Froggits to begin with or was he assuming too much?) growled out. Ranboo jumps before he realises it’s just Wilbur and not someone else also wanting to kill him. (Did the Froggit want to kill him? It was just being a nuisance, really.) 

The Froggit moved immediately, jumping towards and past Ranboo as if it’s life was on the line. Not that Ranboo could blame it. Wilbur’s face had lost all the warmth that Ranboo had gotten used to seeing and all that remained was the anger that always seemed to lurk just out of view under the carefree mask.

Wilbur watched the Froggit run. It was probably just the lighting but the other mans eyes appeared crimson to Ranboo. (Then again, it wouldn’t have been that weird. The man had the ears of a pig for crying out loud.) For a second, as Wilbur’s eyes met Ranboo’s, Ranboo wondered if he, too, should run.

And then Wilbur softened, warmth flooding back into his features and he grinned teasingly. “Am I gonna have to hold your hand through the entire Ruins so that you don’t get harassed by the locals?~” Ranboo gets whiplash from the change in mood and before he can even think to respond, Wilbur’s already grabbed one of his hands again. “Silly Ranboo~” Wilbur’s palm is softer than he’s expecting, certainly softer than a human’s hand, and warm. Ranboo couldn’t help but be surprised at the warmth such a simple action of someone holding his hand seemed to bring to his soul. It should be embarrassing, he’s not a little child anymore (even if he’s also sure he’s not quite an adult yet), but he just doesn’t feel it, despite the flush rising up his neck. He just feels, safe.

He can’t remember ever feeling safe before.

Wilbur keeps the grip on his hand tight as he starts walking again, making their conjoined arms swing and humming to himself. It must be an odd sight to anyone who can see it, a man and a slightly taller, nervous teenager, what a pair.

They reach a spike pit at the end of the corridor.

Ranboo is very concerned.

“Hmm…” Wilbur hums again, seeming slightly nervous as his eyes flicker between the spikes and Ranboo. “I was gonna have you be independent but,” Wilbur squeezes the hand he’s holding. “You couldn’t even handle a single frog so I’m gonna have you stick right with me.” His tone is teasing even as he looks slightly nervous for the first time. He steps onto the spikes and surprisingly isn’t turned into a pin cushion. When he pulls on Ranboo’s arm, Ranboo realises he’s rooted on the spot out of fear, staring at the spikes.

“Hey.” Wilbur’s other hand comes up to gently coax his face upwards, away from staring at the death trap. He hadn’t realised his breathing was shaky until he sees how calm the other is. “You’ll be okay, alright? You’re with me.” 

Ranboo shouldn’t be trusting another stranger, no matter how safe they make him feel nor how kind they are. He doesn’t know them. He should not let them guide him onto a path of spikes where a single misstep could mean pain and death.

And yet he does.


End file.
